


The Wand Chooses The Wizard

by honeybun



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Feel Good Filth, Fluff, Kinda, M/M, Sugar Daddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 23:12:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9464747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybun/pseuds/honeybun
Summary: There's a day in every young witch or wizard's life when they get their wand.Today is that day for Credence Barebone.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello <3 
> 
> I'm slowly editing and adding my little ficlets from tumblr 
> 
> Find me there @ weepingstar xoxox 
> 
> (also it was agonising writing that tiny description, more so than writing the actual story)

Graves knows he isn't a particularly patient man, knows he's a little rough around the edges, knows he should perhaps wait until Credence agrees with Graves that he's _ready_ to learn magic. But he doesn't. 

Graves tells Credence in no uncertain terms that he needs a wand. A subject the both of them have been dancing around for several weeks now. Afterall, Credence is much more stable, healing, and Graves would very much like to share magic with him. Wants to see Credence grow in confidence at his own power, which, although weak at the moment, can grow stronger and be controlled with time and patience, he tells the nervous boy. Graves secretly wants to be the one to bring Credence into this world, greedily keep the experience and the pleasure all to himself, hoard all the boy's wonder and awe at magic like a dragon laying atop it's gold.

Credence, although still not keen on the idea of venturing out into the much too-bright, too-noisy, too-real world again so soon, takes up Mr. Graves’ arm when offered. Holds on for dear life when the strange feeling of apparition surrounds him, clenching his stomach and popping his ears, being nudged by his Mr. Graves when it’s over. Silently agreeing with himself that if Graves is there, then he has nothing to fear (probably).

Still not used to apparition, and never one for too much excitement at once, the journey is a little jolting to say the least. Swooping with Graves into a secluded alleyway and then being firmly herded into an unusual street, he tries his best to take it in his stride and clings, gently, to Graves. Credence doesn’t get to take note of very much he passes, can say for sure he’s never been in this part of the city before, has never seen such a strange collection of shops or heard such odd noises (a lot of owls screeching at once, a man arguing about a broomstick, and the loud bubbling of a cauldron).

Still feeling slightly sick, Credence catches what he can and hopes it’s something Mr. Graves can introduce him to one day, something for another time he thinks, hopefully. With Mr. Graves’ very warm arm around a very wobbly-legged Credence, they enter a shop at the end of the higgledy piggledy street, a shop which seems by all accounts to be taken up entirely by small, thin drawers. Through a conversation between Mr. Graves and the shop keeper - much of which Credence doesn’t understand - he finds himself standing, inexplicably, with a wand in his hand. He isn’t sure how exactly to feel about this.

Upon Graves’ instruction, he gives it a hesitant wave. Nothing happens.

 

While Credence had been trying very hard to put it to the back of his mind, his main reason for avoiding such an outing violently resurfaces.

Chiefly: What if he isn’t magic, what if this wonderful world will all disappear when Mr. Graves realises he doesn’t _have_ any magic, a boy with no future and no power and _no anything!_ Maybe Mr. Graves will look at him with pity, tell Credence he’s no use for him anymore, and leave him out on the streets again, back where he _belongs_. What if Mary Lou was right and a terrible boy like himself could never deserve anything good. What on God’s green Earth would he _do_ without his Mr. Graves, now? Sensing his distress, Graves steps closer, putting his arm around the boy and brushing his hand up and down Credence’s skinny arm, firm strokes, from shoulder to elbow.

Mr. Graves hands him another, “Try this one, Credence, for me,” Credence swallows, nods, and with a shaking hand, tries again.

 

Blue and white sparks shoot out and Credence faintly feels Mr. Graves’ large hand grasping his shoulder, squeezing tightly. Through the daze of happiness that Credence feels, numerous wands are taken away and put back, his hesitant waves becoming bolder, sometimes with catastrophic ends and a tongue-tied Credence stuttering apologies to the shop owner.

Credence isn’t sure just how much time it takes, but all too soon he is tripping out of the shop following Mr. Graves who holds the bag with his wand in, intent on paying a visit to the apothecary which stocks Credence’s special kind of healing ointment.

There was a not so brief and terribly embarrassing moment where Mr. Graves had paid for his wand with large gold coins, looking him straight in the eye as he did, as if to dare Credence to challenge him. Credence didn’t, Credence blushed hotly and ducked his head down to look at his new shoes - another gift from Mr. Graves, also received with embarrassment on Credence’s end, as well as a twisting feeling in his stomach.

 

Credence learns, as they’re sitting at the table for dinner - Graves urging him to go slowly, the food will always be there if he should want more - just what his wand means. The wand chooses the wizard, Graves tells him, eyes sparkling, and what an interesting wand Credence has been chosen by.

Credence listens intently at Graves’ in-depth description of the little wand which chose Credence, _him!_ Although slightly on the shorter side (Graves says this is Credence’s timid personality, he’s sure, nothing to worry over) his wand is flexible, accepting of change in the personality of the owner. Made of the best Acacia wood which produces magic solely for their bearers, as well as withholding their best effects for those gifted few wizards, Graves beams at him, a hand coming to cup Credence’s chin. A core of unicorn tail hair, consistent, the least likely to suffer from fluctuations of magic, and the most difficult to turn to the dark arts, Graves murmurs proudly, rubbing his thumb against his boy’s jawline, just about stopping himself from pressing it against Credence’s trembling lip.

 

Tears Credence doesn’t realise are falling are brushed away by Graves’ calloused thumb. Credence never thought much of himself, would admit that to anyone, but for a wand to choose him, to see such potential in him where no one but Graves had before, truly overwhelms him.

Graves makes his way around to Credence, sits on the chair next to him and pulls him quickly onto his lap, bumps his forehead into Credence's temple and whispers to Credence just how clever he is, just how proud he is to know such a magical boy. Barely pauses for breath when Credence's silent tears start to make him hiccup and then turn into whimpering little sobs, overwhelming Credence with praise he never thought he would deserve. 

Credence spends the rest of the night tucked up in a large armchair in Graves' study as the man reads wandlore to him, pointing out interesting sections to Credence, showing Credence his own wand and what it means. Ruffling the young boys hair more than once to try to stop himself from cupping his jaw and stroking gently, stop himself from leaning down to breathe the boy in and brush his stubbled cheek against Credence's surely soft one, stop himself from pressing a kiss to the corner of his clever boy's mouth.


End file.
